​Top 10 Books Child Psychologists recommend for Children:
Big surprise here, not a one I have read, read as a child, or would EVER read. It’s just an ad. I will not disparage it. But it got me thinking about what I DID read, growing up.

We had Little Golden Books. My mom read them to us. Still remember them, even to the illustrations on the pages. Not just the covers. Four Puppies—and they’re collies!

At Grandma and Grandpa’s house, there were the books my mother grew up with—Nancy Drew, the Bobbsey Twins, Little Prudie, Black Beauty. An oversized picture book of Lad, A Dog. (Collies again!)

HOW and WHY Wonder Books: Excellent, vivid non-fiction books. I think we had Rocks and Minerals. Probably others. Maybe Dinosaurs. We had a Home Encyclopedia too—I think that came one volume at a time from the grocery store.

The Montgomery Ward Catalogue had Horse Books! Snowman, Walter Farley, Marguerite Henry, A Treasury of Horses, Misty of Chincoteague. Mom ordered them for me for Christmas presents. I still have every one.

The public Library had a WHOLE SHELVING UNIT dedicated to Horse Books, in the Junior Department. King of the Wind, The Black Stallion series, dozens of books illustrated by Paul Brown. I judged books very sternly by the quality of their illustrations, and whether they did the horses well. When I discovered that books in the Adult Section were most likely NOT illustrated, I was devastated. The Junior Department was best—and you know, THAT’S where they put the Folklore. The real, messy stuff. Also most—but not ALL—of The Lord of the Rings.

And we had comics! Zorro, Classics Illustrated, Gold Key.

Schools had libraries too. Time to go there varied, and we were supposed to be picking out books for BOOK REPORTS. “No, you can’t read Johnny Tremayne. That’s a boy’s book. No, you already did a book report on a Horse Book. Why don’t you read something else?” (So I read a Dog Book--The Greene Poodles! The poodles were not green.) (Junior High, they made us read biographies. Wish someone had told me that Lytton Strachey’s Queen Victoria was more satirical than factual.)

School Libraries were a nice source of junior biographies—I read Clara Barton and Amelia Earhart and Carl Ben Eielson, Will Rodgers and Thomas Alva Edison—c’mon, the boys were not going to check them out unless they were forced to, they were quick reads about interesting people—and since it was not for a Book Report, no worries about “boy’s books” being read by a girl. I learned a ton. And I still remember those books.

I read books my mom had at home--Anna and the King of Siam. Then, Mom rejoined the Doubleday Book Club. I read Gone With the Wind, and fell under The Spell of Mary Stewart. Alfred Hitchcock Stories that Scared Even Me. 2001: A Space Odyssey. The Crystal Cave.

Had there been a HOW and WHY Book on Writers, this is what would have been in it!

I have just celebrated Small Business Saturday at the US Post Office--Christmas stamps!; The Apple Castle...apples, sugar free jams, hand-made peanut butter, an Apple Dumpling, Nutcracker Tea and Honees Honey Drops! Jameson's Candy...dark chocolate in ever so many forms!

Masked and social distanced every step of the way!

At some point today I may start making some yarn. Just because I am used to spinning for hours and hours on Small Business Saturday and the Sunday following, at Lanterman's Mill in Youngstown. You can still hike there--and it's a lovely day--but the Mill is closed until spring. The artisans demonstrating at the Mill the weekend after Thanksgiving marked the final times the Mill would be open for the season, and it was a holiday tradition for families all over the Mahoning Valley for the past 25 years.

Here's to next year! 

​Today, I should be at Lanterman’s Mill in Youngstown, Ohio, teaching young spinners to make yarn out of combed sheep’s wool. I should be fretting that I wove no new rugs to sell there this year. I should be standing in my corner on the Gear Floor, with stone walls on two sides, and the windows with the best views of the water—over the dam and downstream, toward the bridge. I should be rejoicing every time the sluice gate opens, sending in a rush of water to turn the wheel, engage the Bull Gear, and set every gear, rod and belt whirring in a huge flour-making dance through all three floors of the mill.
I should already have walked down the stairs to the two levels beneath the Gear Floor, down into the bedrock the mill is anchored on. I swear there’s ice on the walls down there even in August. I should climb back up the stairs and find that the unheated Gear Floor feels much warmer than it did before I went down. I should be wearing my red wool coat-dress and telling people how I found it for a dollar at a July yard sale. Who wants boiled wool in July? I should be listening to bagpipes, sampling roasted chestnuts, buying stone-ground wheat, corn and buckwheat, visiting the other artisans…
I don’t for one minute regret that I have over-bought in past years. Fleeces from the Charon FarmPark. Surely no spinner needs more than 2 or 3 fleeces? Three to five pounds of raw fleece yields a lot of yarn, a lot of pleasant spinning time. But the fleeces I purchase let the FarmPark continue to support endangered breeds, and show kids what a farm does. Children and adults both learn that turning sheep’s wool into a sweater involves a lot more than a trip to a superstore.
I refuse to regret always buying one of Gregg of Riverwood Trading Co.’s wooden spoons at Lanterman’s Mill. One—who am I kidding? I already have an inordinate number of them, but each one is a unique piece of functional art in cherrywood, so it’s more like 3, 4, 5. They’re art, but they’re great for stirring porridge, so resistance is futile.
Rocks. Painted to become snakes, wolves, horses, cats, sheep, rats…if I already have a sheep, should I resist another sheep that has great long wool and a sweet expression? I’m glad I didn’t—because none of us are there to shop from, this year.
I miss my friends. I’m glad I supported them when I could. I’m glad traditions like the Olde Fashioned Christmas at Lanterman’s Mill existed—and that they’ll be back, one day. 

According to the texts I get—and pay for, at 20 cents an unsolicited pop—my name is Ralph. Or Frances, Jocelyn, or Janice. On my landline, I am generally addressed by my correct name, often in a tone that suggests the caller is a personal friend. “You’re so hard to get hold of! I’m so glad you answered the phone…” It spooks me. And I don’t want to answer their surveys and unsolicited questions. But you know, maybe I should, in a way that’s safe and entertaining. (To me. It's all about me, because I pay for the landline!)

Herewith, some examples:
“The Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria”
“Alba gu brath!”
“42”
“Tom Bombadil”
“Para Espanol, Marque el dos”
“Gordon Setter”
“Bee Balm”
“Que? No habla englais.”
“Ayn Rand”
“Hedera Helix”
“Porthos, Athos and Aramis”
"Do you know where your towel is?"
"Millard Fillmore"

The trick is, none of these answers have anything to do with the questions being asked. And there’s no “yes”, “no”, nothing that can be recorded and twisted to another purpose. Just the random answer. No “Stop calling me!” After all these callers are just doing their job. No “This number is on the National Do Not Call List.” That’s proven to be useless. Just a random answer. I think…it’s going to be fun.

I’ve tried it—and it is fun!

Celtic Blood Series
Last year at about this time, the Youngstown Vindicator ceased publication after 140 years, was saved at the eleventh hour by being picked up by the Warren Tribune-Chronicle—and within six months ceased home deliveries to Western Pennsylvania. Although it was a morning paper by the end, I was rarely able to read it before I left for my day job—yet still, it was a routine to start the day: get the news, center, focus, connect.
Came the pandemic. I had already chosen to stop running out to a grocery store to get the Sunday edition—even though they had recently interviewed me—too much trouble for too little content. I signed up for Facebook. That gave me a way to connect. Some authors promote their books on Facebook. I’ve put a couple on my Kindle, and having used my stimulus money to upgrade my home tech, I’m more inclined to blog, so here goes!

Celtic Blood Series by Melanie Karsac
If you read my books—and you might, if you’re reading my blog—you probably know that I like character-driven stories. And Gruoch, aka Lady Macbeth, ought to fill that bill. A strong woman anchored in a vivid if violent time. I really enjoyed the way the author brought in elements of the Shakespeare play into dialogue in Highland Raven.
Only…some of those elements imply that these magical, Old Religion beings have serious power. And they do. Until they don’t, because as the author explains in her note at the end of Highland Queen, she did a complete overhaul of her first draft to give her characters “the endings they deserved”.

I’m sorry. All characters would like “to go on to happy-enough lives”. It’s just that sometimes the story demands something more. You don’t have to take my word for it. Just read Tolkien. Yes, it’s hard on the characters you love. But a false story does not resonate the way a heart-true one does.

I bought all four books, but my enjoyment ebbed with the final two.
And a few small points: having a character repeatedly say “I’m okay,” is sloppy characterization. How does a woman in the 1300s use a word which did not exist in her time? She also cannot walk into a room and see it filled with spinning wheels, no matter what point the author wants to make about how even a queen is expected to do woman’s work rather than a warrior’s. I’m a hand-spinner. That means I spin wool on a drop spindle, and I know things: Macbeth reigned 1040-1043—the spinning wheel didn’t reach Europe, much less Scotland till at least the 1350s. It’s a careless touch. It doesn’t spoil the story, but the lack of characterization does. These people all have a sameness, which makes it hard to care for them. It should be a compelling story, but it misses. 

​Firelord, by Parke Godwin
I wanted to re-read this one before I resume tackling my Arthurian project The High Road and the Low. It’s been years, and Parke Godwin is sadly gone, to dementia and into the dark, but I remember hearing him read—no, perform—Guenevere’s opening speech from Beloved Exile. He wrote character-driven fiction at its finest, and his take on Arthur’s story is unique.
It’s hard, when you’ve read a lot of Arthurian fiction, to judge fairly—it’s the same basic cast of characters, every time, every author. The same basic story. How can it possibly be fresh? I certainly will struggle with that. What’s my take on Arthur? How to I tell his tale?
Well, Parke Godwin found a splendid way. He did it by seeking out a culture that’s rarely used, barely explored. He may very well have invented it out of whole cloth, but it was informed invention. Everything about Prydn, Faerie, rings vibrant and true. You can see it, taste it, smell it. They move the heart, these forgotten, marginalized, dying people—the earliest Britons, gone into their Hollow Hills. And Godwin didn’t leave it there—the story expands into and continues in The Last Rainbow.
One thing many have noted about the Arthurian saga: Arthur himself is not much present, once Sword is pulled from Stone. The stories happen to others; Arthur just sort of presides over the storytelling after dinner. He won’t sit down to his meat until someone relates a marvel. A wonder the Court didn’t starve to death! The only time this isn’t in play is when Arthur is telling his story, first person, in his own voice. Rosemary Sutcliff’s Sword at Sunset, Godwin’s Firelord. It’s compelling. It’s unforgettable. 

No secret, books are my comfort and escape. While I’ve been blessed to work every day just as I would have if there was no pandemic, and further blessed to be able to start taking my annual vacation time, there were books I knew I wanted to read back in March, when the world shut down.
Not Neville Shute’s On the Beach. I’ve read it, I don’t remember any suggestion of comfort there. It’s a tale of people coping, with no hope, no hope whatsoever. Not the effect I was after!
Piece of Cake by Derek Robinson. I picked up in England the year it came out in paperback there, 1985. Read it then. Loaded it onto my Kindle because I was just too eager to re-read it to wait and dig it out of the shelves of books.
And then I let it sit after a chapter or so. Deflected by other escapes, e-books and physical books both. But I came back to it in September.
It’s about an RAF squadron before and during the Battle of Britain. Knights of the Air, gallant young men in powerful machines. Some of them are not very nice people, but they’re ideal fighter pilots. Most of them won’t live long enough to grow out of arrogance or childishness. Nice young men die far too soon—and so do the budding psychopaths, sooner or later.  There’s boredom and confusion, frustration and moments of sheer terror. There’s politics and bureaucracy. No one knows how it will come out in the end. They’re making it up as they go along. Answers, no. Common ground, yes.  
I’ve read since that the author caught a lot of flak—no pun intended—for refusing to tell the romantic version of the story. For hewing to the truth even when it was not popular. That’s timely too—I’m sure it was the same at Agincourt, and most likely at the siege of Troy.
There’s a sequel--A Good Clean Fight. Some of the surviving members of Hornet Squadron go on to serve in the war in Africa. I’m reading it now—and trust me on this, it’s not The Rat Patrol I watched on TV many years ago!

Last seen in 1996. New cover by Teddi Black, template by The Book Designer. Welcome back Titch, Wren, Alinor...and of course Valadan, the Warhorse of Esdragon! The book on the left is the original Del Rey mass market paperback edition. The trade paperback on the right is the proof copy of the new edition. That NOT FOR RESALE banner indicates that it is a proof copy. When the book goes live on Amazon, that banner won't be there--which means the five proof copies I ordered will become rare and worth a fortune some day!

Many, many thanks to Dish Network and their technician Al, who got me set up with Hughes Net satellite internet yesterday afternoon. I'm pleased. I'm over the moon!. This morning--before leaving for my day job--I was able to upload my cover file for The True Knight trade paperback, finish the set-up process, and order my proof copies. 

Kudos also to Teddi Black for the cover, and for the shield motif with the Warhorse Wheel on it that you see above.

Oh, and during the installation, which involved running a wire through my basement--the pre-1900 part of it--Al spotted a shed snakeskin. Danerys is in residence, so I should have no mice or rats. (She is a gray rat snake!) And I have internet to allow me to publish my books! (Plus a house-snake, weed-whacking that needed to be done anyway, and vacuuming in an area that had not been done since I got the new vac.) Time well spent!

Or, he's here... Titch, of The True Knight. I have the Kindle e-book up and it is on sale now. Nook soon to follow. Paperback very soon! All formats contain a special teaser for Book Four of the Warhorse of Esdragon: The Wandering Duke.